Of Life and Love and Wings

22 Mar

Life is not what it used to be, but it is still good. Better, even. Growing up is such a weird thing.

I feel strung out on this odd tense wire of being a child and an adult, not knowing what childlike things to keep before your heart turns cold, and what things to trade for something more wise or practical.

I do know right now I need to write, often, a lot, honestly,  anything, ANYTHING. Just freaking anything.

I lost my journal and it is haunting me. It is haunting me because I have no idea where it is, I think it must be out there somewhere, someone has it and knows my  deepest darkest thoughts. I have never lost a journal. I feel like an old forgetful lady,  searching for it in the same places every day.

Lately, when I start to write, I have this itch to go on facebook and just drown out my own thoughts with other people’s. To distract myself. It is so easy to do. And it sucks out every ounce of flow, creativity, and drive.

I read something earlier about taking your emotions, seeing what the end result will be, then throwing it away if it doesn’t line up with what God thinks. I think I need that.

Often I think about where I could be, what I don’t have, what I should be doing instead. These, like obsessing with the inane details of others lives and comparing them with my own, is a death sentence to my heart.

Yet thankfulness brings the perspective completely around and jump starts it until I can feel the beating inside me again. This is what gives me wings.

I am borrowing the beautiful and necessary practice of my friend ( and beautifully honest writer) Betsy, and making my list of reasons to have joy, now.

Going to Aldi with Mere to get Coffee, and checking the mail on the way out to find a package with coffee beans shipped from Washington state by Amanda.

Creating dishes best ate with Chopsticks.

Spontaneous song singing with Jean-Thomas.

Every white and fuchsia bud from Shady Point Lane to Park Row Drive.

Tortilla soup, from Mijos.

Beef Noodles soup, from Pho 21.

My miraculous silver scooter, Sylvia.

Getting to share my story with the girls at 24/7 youth.

Reading out loud with Mere: The War of Art, Bittersweet, and random blogs.

The thought of finishing The Cloud and the Line– the joy of being a part of something from start to finish.

Talking about culture, Jesus and Muhammad, and hair styles with my Pakistani neighbors.

LOST nights with Jean-Thomas and Mere, usually involving some sort of pasta dish.

Looking forward to spending time with my best friend Jamie and her lovely baby boy.

Looking forward to going on grand adventures with Dorny.

Music swapping with Sam.

Overcoming little addictions.

Overcoming big fears.

Being ok with all that is ambiguous: future, required action, confusing beliefs.

Car chats with Tifany.

Reciting poetry with my dad over Gmail chat.

Reading the blogs of these genius women in my life and feeling close to them even if there are in the Pacific Northwest.

Re-learning to not be afraid of being alone with my own thoughts.

Reading three books at once, and being ok with that, taking my time.

Realizing those who invented English grammar did an enormous disservice by putting people in the same category as places and things, for we long to define our life by all three yet somehow suffocate if the emphasis isn’t simply on the first.

Brooke Fraser-
“She limps on up to the top of a mount
Looks at the faltered harvest
Feels her sweat in the ground and the burn in her nose
And the knowing in her guts
Something’s still gonna grow

and she ain’t leavin till it does. “

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